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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27076618">Presents and Prizes and Sweets and Surprises</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds'>Cave_of_the_mounds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack, Episode: s15e14 Last Holiday, Gen, I hated this episode, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, because it was written on wet tissue paper, poking holes in the plot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 01:26:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27076618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just my way of venting my frustration with the episode. I was going to do a kind of fix-it fic, but this turned more into a reader insert as concerned spectator kind of thing. No one edited this, so sorry for any errors. This is frustration and crack.</p><p>Poking holes, making fun, wishing they were doing better things with the last few episodes - you know, the fangirl business.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; You, Sam Winchester &amp; You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Presents and Prizes and Sweets and Surprises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>“There’s a what living here? And what does it have to do with your underwear?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Dean rolls his eyes, “A wood nymph. She was folding them for me.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Since when do you fold your underwear?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Since Mrs. B. started doing it for me,” he shrugs.</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Speak of the devil, or nymph - she scurries in from the hall.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her eyes are wide as she looks you over, a disapproving scowl on her face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Dean, we do not bring lady guests into the Men of Letters bunker. Ms. Sands was an exception, but it should not be the rule.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Lady guests? I live here,” you glare as you over-enunciate each word.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Clearly caught off-guard, she splutters, unable to reply more than a few cut-off words as she looks helplessly at Dean. “A-a woman? IN the Men of Letters bunker?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Times have changed, lady. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but you are also a female.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I am a wood nymph,” she says haughtily, “Friend of the goddess Artemis, and not subject to the problems a woman may bring to this bunker.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You start to move on her, but Dean steps in, gently keeping you back with a hand on your shoulder, “Okay, I think this could be going better. Mrs. B., she does live here. We don’t really subscribe to the whole ‘fairer sex’ thing. I was just getting ready to find you for introductions when you walked in. Now, I think we can all get along, right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He looks between you with a shit-eating grin as though he just solved the easiest riddle, even though he didn’t do shit. Mrs. B. stands there wringing her hands and staring at you with trepidation, while you eye her up, looking for any signs of malice.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know!” Dean says with all the excitement of a ten year-old, “Mrs. B. how about you bring out some of those butter cookies you whipped up earlier and we kick this off right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She turns to fulfill his request just as you answer, “No, thanks. I don’t mind fending for myself. In fact, I prefer it. Dean, can I speak with you? Alone?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He shakes his head and looks at her apologetically. She just waves him off and leaves.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What the hell?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah!” you throw your hands up, “What the hell?! You need to tell me everything that happened since she showed up.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Days pass. Once Dean had told you what happened to make Mrs. Doubtfire appear, you went to Sam, hoping for some reason unfortunately, it seemed to be a lost cause. Once she highlighted the monster radar, they were constantly on the run. A quick vampire nest here, a coven there. In between Dean nestled himself in his purple huggy nightgown and drowned himself not in alcohol, but in mashed potatoes and pie. She even had Jack drawn out of his new soul-based depression thanks to her smoothies.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>_____</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Won’t you join us, dear?” her sickly sweet voice invites you as the guys line up pumpkins for carving. She wears a forced smile as she clasps her hands in front of her, still uncomfortable with your presence.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nope,” you pop with an obnoxious ‘p’ sound, “I’m super right here.” You wave your deli-bought sandwich in the air and look back to your laptop.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“C’mon!” Dean groans. He looks up from the face he’s drawing on the huge, out-of-season monstrosity. “Relax a little, Mrs. B is even gonna roast up some pumpkin seeds - salty and sweet!” He looks at her with an excited and expectant nod.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She looks back like a proud grandmother, “Of course, dear!” As though there were no other option, making your eyes roll into the back of your head.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Like I said, I’m good. You guys enjoy your...whatever over there.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They shrug and ignore you, laughing like children and throwing pumpkin goop at each other until she scolds them. Until now, Halloween was despised by Sam, and only an excuse for slutty costumes for Dean. Not that it hadn’t been tried. There were attempts at parties, birthdays, Christmas; Jody invited you all over plenty, especially after the mess with Mary. But no. Suddenly Stepford Granny appears and it’s all hands on deck for celebrations. Something wasn’t right, and for some stupid reason, the guys didn’t notice or care.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>_____</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your research on wood nymphs doesn’t offer a whole lot, they are pretty rare. More kindly disposed toward men according to a source, which explains her reaction to you, and summoned to attend the gods on Olympus, which also explains her service kink apparently. Other than that, it was a whole lot of crap.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>On occasion you find her in the library, staring wistfully at the photo of the Men of Letters who previously occupied the bunker, but once she notices your presence, she shakes herself from her reverie and starts puttering about, lamenting the state of things around her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Dean is blissful. Sam had been reluctant, but even he seems to be walking around without his usual dark cloud. You want them to be happy, to have the memories others take for granted, but the way she side-eyes Jack, the way she passive-aggressively speaks about you even when you are in the room, it won’t stop nagging at you.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What do you miss most about them?” you ask her one day after she sends the boys off with their crustless sandwiches.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, well, it’s hard to miss them much when they’ve just left,” she laughs, stiff with discomfort.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not Sam and Dean, I mean them,” you tip your head in the direction of the photo on the wall.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh.” She takes a half step toward it, but stops. “It’s - they gave me purpose, a home, and a family.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What about your real family? The other nymphs?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She straightens out her stupid, festive apron then, looking at you dead on, “Mr. Sinclair and those gentlemen were no less a real family to me than my natural brethren,” she pauses for a deep breath, then for a moment longer until a tight smile pulls across her lips. “Now, have you eaten? Are you sure I can’t get you...”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” you cut her off for the millionth time she’s asked. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well then, I best get back to work,” she mutters and wanders off.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>_____</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When you finally get the chance to corner Sam, he’s rushing while getting ready for his date and really only half-listening.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And I just think that it’s really telling that Cuthbert Sinclair was the one to bring her on, I mean, he wasn’t always on the level with his magic and acquisitions and what the hell are you wearing?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He turns around, smoothing down the brown sweater vest, “What? Mrs. Butters set it out for me. Said it makes me look dashing.” He smiles and shyly tips his head to the side, the way he does before giving his puppy eyes. All lost on you.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You look like a sitcom dad. You’re just going out with Eileen, right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nothing wrong with looking your best.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sure,” you agree with uncertainty, “But Sam, didn’t you look into this?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“She was right about the first vamp case, she’s powered up the radar, and the bunker is on full blast, what’s wrong with that?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Because Sam! Magic also comes with a price, and when has a monster ever really been so thrilled to live in servitude? Or anyone for that matter? You think this is all out of the goodness of her heart?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He looks at you, confused, “Yes?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You throw your hands up, just as Sam checks his watch and curses under his breath before hastily leaving the room.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What the fuck. Fine, you guys don’t care? I don’t care. I am fucking out of here.” No one stops you.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>_____</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Two days later, you’re called back to the bunker and very apologetic Winchesters, and cake.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So she was a Nazi murder monster who also liked serving milk and cookies? Cool. Cool, cool. And Jack found this out? Jack?! I mean, no offense buddy, but Sam! You’re the lore genius! You’ve got this place set up with your own fucking Sammy decimal system, and you missed this!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I mean, if she was doping up all our food, like she was doing to Jack - “</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And you wondered why I didn’t want to eat her turkish delights! She had you guys running around with sack lunches like fricken four year-olds, all dopey smiles and rice krispy treats. I mean, I can’t believe you even knew how to spell ‘happy birthday’ all on your own and didn’t pull a Hagrid with how high you were flying on her nymph edibles!” You throw your hands up, nearly throwing your slice of birthday cake right off the plate, as Sam laughs.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And you,” you point to him, “Mjolnir! Where did she pull that from? You weren’t thrown off with that? And don’t think I am letting you live down that sweater vest or birthday tiara. If all it took to make you guys so docile were a few parties and home-cooked meals and giving in to some praise kinks you seem to hae, then someone would have locked you both down already, it’s not like they haven’t tried. I cringed, you guys, cringed. My shoulders are still sore from it.  In fact, I think you guys really owe me for having to put up with watching all that crap go down. For being so right, right from the start.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They both roll their eyes, Jack for his part just sits and smiles while eating his own birthday cake. Dean flicks his fingers in a ‘bring it on’ motion while pursing his lips in displeasure.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I want a party. With drinks and store-bought cake with that really good frosting, and a banner that says ‘you were so right and we were so stupid and we’re sorry and we will do better next tim-’”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Alright, Veruca we get it,” Dean groans.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just do better, and don’t forget my golden goose,” you smirk.</p>
</div>
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